


Communication Difficulties

by TLvop



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint and his team, Clint fails code-breaking, Clint-centric, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Unusuals references, or wally if you're not from canada/us, seriously he's like waldo, so there are LOTS of people in SHIELD, where's bruce banner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLvop/pseuds/TLvop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His spotter/co-sniper calls him "old man" for never learning how to do any communication skills more subtle than texting Natasha's back-up team, but Schmidt would call him "old man" anyway and he can't really tell her to get off of his lawn now that she's <em>thirty-one</em>.</p><p>Written for the be_compromised prompathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communication Difficulties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkvoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/gifts).



> Perhaps somewhat over-influenced by The Unusuals. I'm not sorry!
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/60569.html?thread=776601&%20#t776601): _When they're apart, especially when they're on seperate missions, they have their own clandestine ways of keeping in touch: drop boxes, websites that they hack and leave code words and phrases on..._

In Clint's defense, it only takes him three hours to give up on the first round of codes. He'd checked their website during a slow watch, but try as he might he was neither a computer-nerd or of an intelligence background, so he passed it over to Nick Henry to keep him occupied. His teammate might be nice and polite and trying not to be bored as hell without any locals to make friendly conversation with, but he takes to the tangles of code with a glee Clint won't _ever_ understand. 

Two hours later, Henry hands Clint a series of numbers and dashes written in his chicken-scratch, a code-form Clint actually _recognizes_ , and Clint offers to grab him breakfast when they're back at the San Diego offices.

"It's no chore to help a friend," Henry says, and Clint knows he means it; so he decides just to get him something ridiculous and Starbucks-y to settle it before the rest of the team tries to manipulate his unpaid favor. 

After watch, he digs around to pull out his copy of Clarke's 2010, and starts flipping to pages and carefully counting words, writing them down. _Very cold here. I'm casting my vote early for some island place_. The row of non-modified numbers on the end confuses him for a long moment, as they're clearly not a page or word reference, before it clicks and he laughs. Beamon, curled up in her blankets like a coccoon and trying to get to sleep, glares at him, and he holds a hand up in apology. He knows this was Nat's intention, to make him laugh, but still – to see _1653_ in a code without context is entertaining -- and, for a moment, it seems surprisingly high before he realizes Nat's two weeks have probably been nearly as boring as his have. He turns off his lamp; he has watch at 00:00, any reply can wait.

His spotter/co-sniper calls him "old man" for never learning how to do any communication skills more subtle than texting Natasha's back-up team, but Schmidt would call him "old man" anyway and he can't really tell her to get off of his lawn now that she's _thirty-one_.

(The fact that she's over thirty will never stop creeping him out. She was twenty-four only – seven years ago! He's pretty sure that's not how time works.)

As it is, after he wakes up and's been on watch for awhile he sends Koskinen a quick _hey howre you guys_ because he's in nowhere, Alaska, keeping an eye on a sleeping scientist with severe anger management issues, and it's 2am but it could be late afternoon for all the shit the sun gives.

The rapid reply of _Aw, I didn't know you cared._ doesn't mean much (beyond, "we're safe," which actually, Clint supposes, means a lot) because Koskinen keeps as odd of hours as he does. It's hard being a team leader. 

There're privileges, though. Burke is bringing him a thermos of coffee right now, bundled up with a grouchy-as-hell expression on his face.

"Get your panties bunched?" Clint asks, once the thermos is safely in his hands. He doesn't look away from where the cabin is, even though he isn't actively looking through the sights.

"Fuck off, Barton, just because you get off on being in the middle of nowhere." Burke crashes down to sit next to him while Clint just smirks; he's been working with Burke for long enough to know that the profanity is just a sign he's doing all right.

 _yeah thats me mr touchyfeely_ , he texts back after pouring them both mugs of the coffee. He's pretty sure Henry made it, because it actually tastes somewhat reminiscent of what it should.

"Who're you texting?" Burke says. "Your girlfriend? Because that's plain _adorable_."

Clint glances over to him. Burke is a few years older than him, and joined the team a year after Clint did. He's retiring as a field agent next fall, and Clint's not really sure what the team'll look like without him (and Huerte, maybe – he's been considering retiring a couple years short of the normal fifty, because of some building injuries, and his best friend dropping out might be the tipping point). Echo's the team that's been together the longest of the San Diego group; Schmidt's their newest member. They're all getting old. "Wouldn't you like to know." He smirks, instead of going Hallmark, and feels smug when Burke rolls his eyes and sighs.

 _I'm having a conversation with you, so this should be obvious_ , Koskinen's reply makes his phone vibrate very slightly against his fingers. He can imagine the look on her face. _We're fucking bored._

 _haha same here_ , he types back. Burke has gotten to recording air measurements, so Clint looks back through his sights to make sure nothing's changed. It hasn't. He glances back down, and shoots off another text. _i am honored by your tolerance your highness. tell r im over 2k. were approaching emergency conditions_.

 _I know this is kinky bullshit_ , Koskinen texts back, and Clint grins. _But whatever, I like R so I'll let her know. Pleasure doing business with you._

 _all mine_ , he says, and then things go quiet for the rest of the watch.

And if when the next encoded message shows up on his computer in a few days, he's more pleased than frustrated – well. Friendship is a funny thing.

**Author's Note:**

> The numbers are _also_ from  The Unusuals, and are, indeed, (very mildly) kinky in context.


End file.
